Pursuit of Enchantment
by MissLala73
Summary: So, Max is unravelling? Where & who does he go to? & Why? Formerly 'What did you expect'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N So, with renewed vigour (alright, that might be a bit of an overstatement) and inspiration (I'll let you be the judge of its worth) I've begun to rework and continue with what was formerly titled 'What did you expect?' Not sure that the new title is any improvement, but it's the best I can come up with (& even so is taken from Nancy Mitford's 'The Pursuit of Love - not that I am comparing anything I produce to her work!). This is not a continuation of previous stories but is a 'standalone' & likely to be a two hander. I think I know where it is going (which helps) but I want to try something a bit different, so if you can bear it, please bear with me ...**

-ooOoo-

Millie struggled to open her eyes, but the banging on the door was insistent, stronger than her own desire for sleep.

"Mmmm, what the …" she mumbled to herself. Couldn't be Aidan, he never forgot his keys. It was a standing joke that he was even more organised than she was. A feat in itself and she wasn't entirely sure she was happy with it. Looking across at the digital clock to her left, she saw it read 4.01am, far too early for Aidan, he wouldn't be back until after his shift finished at seven. So, whoever it was, it wasn't him. That pricked her consciousness to life. Anyone banging on her door at four in the morning had to have a good reason. The usual worries flitted through her mind, accidents, friends, family in trouble, Aidan in trouble… Quickly she shifted herself out of bed and grabbed the robe draped across the chair opposite her. Shrugging it over her shoulders and slipping her feet into sheepskin house boots, she switched on her bedroom light and made to jog unsteadily down the stairs to the front door. Negotiating her way round two large pieces of luggage at the foot of the stairs she reached the front door to flick the switches for both the hallway and the light outside. She peered through the little spyhole and had to steady herself against the doorframe when the man outside turned round and stared through the lens on the other side totally aware that she was watching him.

Max had been driving for nearly an hour. Somewhere in his mind was the logic that told him he shouldn't be driving, that if he was caught it was a case of 'bye-bye career' but the three lines of coke consumed in the preceding hours told him he was invincible, nobody was going to pull him over. He drove round and round, looking for a reason to stop, somewhere to be, somewhere to belong. Pulling off the main road he found himself on a familiar side street although it took him a moment to remember why it was familiar. He'd dropped her here after her leaving party last year. He mentally took himself back to that night and tried to recall where he had stopped the car. She'd been nervous, didn't want to accept his offer of a lift, but Mel had decided the matter on her behalf because she was bunking down on Millie's sofa for the night and didn't fancy either the walk or the hassle of waiting for a cab. Millie sat in the back and when he'd turned round to reverse, he caught sight of her in the street light filtering through the car window. First her legs which she struggled to curl into the back of his car as Mel slid her seat back. For once they were not shrouded in sexless polyester mix, but instead covered in sheer black, ending in studded ankle boots, their toughness at odds with her gentleness. In a split second he'd looked up, her hands neatly folded in her lap, her eyes downcast towards them, but she'd known he was staring and like a magnet, his eyes drew hers upwards. It was dark, so he couldn't be sure what he saw, but he felt something and just knew. Little was said on the way back to her house. Millie gave mechanical directions while Mel sat glued to her phone texting Ben about the night's events, apparently unaware of the tension between the two other occupants.

He dug deep into his memory, clouded by his high and visualised the door they had parked outside. The house was nothing remarkable, just neat and tidy, exactly as he would have expected. Mel got out with a 'thanks Sarge' but barely a backward glance. Millie however leaned forward, her perfume snaking around him, invading him. He felt her movement and turned his head, giving her only his profile. _"Thank you for … umm, well … the lift. I suppose … see you around … maybe"_ and that was it. What did she expect? A declaration of interest, based on that? She'd have to do better if she wanted him to take her seriously. Too meek, too uptight. Not what he wanted from a woman. But still …

The _'but still …'_ had lingered his mind. _But still_, she had looked hot in that dress and those boots. Those legs. And when their eyes locked onto each others in the car, she didn't look meek. Maybe it was the light, but there was rawness about her that he'd never seen before, except by the time they reached her house, it was gone again, replaced by the same old uncertainty that left him feeling so indifferent towards her. That's why he let her go without another word. He could have said 'I'll call you' but it would have been a lie. He never made the first move, he never needed to and if she wasn't up to it then why should he bother? He knew he would lose interest before long. And yet …

Without thinking, a recurrent theme of his night so far, Max pulled up a couple of car lengths along from her house and got out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and head bowed, slunk to her door. He couldn't tell if the bell was working, so after ringing it twice he started banging his fist against the white uPVC façade. As the lights momentarily blinded him, he stared into the spyhole, knowing she was there.

Millie took a moment to register who was on her doorstep, someone she hadn't set eyes on in well over six months. A lot had changed in that time and he hadn't figured in any of it, in fact she'd just about forgotten him, until now. She wanted to ignore him and go back to bed, pretend he hadn't appeared stirring up feelings that she'd worked so hard to bury. But that wasn't an option. Here he was and not likely to go away without the sort of hassle that would have her neighbours talking. Nevertheless, she attached the security chain that would allow the door to open only a few inches, he could stand on the doorstep and tell her whatever he needed to say. She took a deep breath, followed by another to stall for more time and opened the door as far as it would go.

"What are you doing here?"

"Had nowhere else to be."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Let me in and I'll tell you. I need coffee."

"There's a twenty-four hour café up the road, I'm sure you can get whatever you need there."

"I doubt it" he replied with a chuckle that made her stomach flip. Yes, he could still do that. She hated it. No she didn't, shit. Even as her hands pushed the door to allow her fingers to undo the chain to allow her in, her head was screaming at her for being so weak.

He walked past her, his insouciance grating at her every nerve. She watched him as he looked around her living room. His insolent appraisal of her tidiness, her taste in décor, art, personality. Irrational anger rose in her. For years she wanted him to notice her, to appreciate her and finally here he was. She'd become used to his professional judgement of her, such as it was, but now she felt her character under his scathing scrutiny, even though he hadn't uttered a word.

He looked at the luggage at the foot of the stairs. "Going somewhere?"

"Holiday. Tomorrow. What do you want Max?"

"Coffee please." So cocksure.

"I haven't got any milk."

"Black is fine, sugar if you have it." Millie was just about to head for the kitchen when her self-respect finally kicked in.

"No. You tell me why you are here." That provoked him, showing backbone was clearly a surprise as his eyes flashed with anger.

"Okay, this is how it is." He edged towards her with all the confidence that the chemical in his system could give him, his arms outstretched in mock invitation. "You want me, I know you do and you know you do. So here I am."

It took Millie a couple of seconds to realise that the atmosphere in the room had changed for the worse. Gone was the charming impudence and in its stead replaced with menace. He continued towards her and instinctively she backed away, his step quickened and as she turned to rush towards the door he grabbed her arm and pushed her back against the wall, pinning her tightly with one hand while the other held her by the throat, forcing her chin upwards. Millie struggled against him, but dizziness marred her efforts. She could vaguely hear a voice shouting 'let go, what are you doing? What are you doing? Stop now!' The voice was gasping for air, but it didn't stop, it was determined to fight. She could also hear another rasping voice close to her ear.

"Come on Millie, tell me that you want me … tell me." She could smell stale cigarette on his breath and nearly gagged from the taste when he tried to force his mouth on to hers. Unable to move her head, all she could do was try to keep her lips clamped shut. Summoning all her strength, she lifted her free hand to his hair, grabbed a handful and jerked it down sharply with everything she had left. Max cried out with the sudden pain in his scalp, penetrating his invincibility enough to bring him to his senses. He let go of Millie's throat and stumbled backwards, turning away to hide the barrage of self-loathing that threatened to overwhelm him. He leaned into the sofa for support, creeping sobriety infiltrating the high, reducing him to what he feared most. Little more than a fucked-up junkie who believed he was in control of his habit.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hmm, am thinking this may be a series of fairly short updates. Going for a rather fractured angle, not sure that it will work, but got to try something new from time to time, right?**

Head bowed, shoulders hunched against the unseasonal chill wind, Millie hurriedly walked down the street towards her home. Not that it really felt like her home anymore. Aidan had moved out the day before, telling her so graciously to take the time she needed to sort herself out. They couldn't carry on living together anymore until she did and as she had nowhere else to go, he had left his own house, temporarily. It was easy for him to find somewhere else and as a consultant anaesthetist, he could afford the unselfish sacrifice. Of course, Millie was perfectly well aware that this was just him using every tactic to emotionally batter her, to pin her into a corner where eventually she was bound to beg him to return, cowed and contrile. It had always been like that. Ever since the beginning when they had met at St Hugh's and she had accepted his fateful invitation to go for a drink. She had needed a drink, needed someone to find her attractive, someone to help usher out images of Max Carter who didn't want to know her. Aidan did. He was tall, Max wasn't. He was chiselled and urbane, Max wasn't. But he was conceited, perhaps it was that trait Millie found familiar, and disturbingly attractive. The drink quickly turned into dinner and within a few weeks she found that she had moved into his smartly renovated Victorian mid-terrace house in a tree-lined street on the better side of Canley with the right post code. It was too fast, she knew that but Aidan was never wrong and so she was never able to sufficiently back up her concerns with a reasonable argument he would accept. He told her she was still young, quite innocent really despite her job but that he would take care of her. Her parents had always their own problems, never really paying much attention to her emotional needs and so the security he had offered was intoxicating. It couldn't last. Her few friends expressed their doubts, quietly so that Aidan wouldn't notice, but what else did she have? It was easier to go along with his decisions than break out, once again alone in the world. In fact, she had begun to wonder if one day she might wake up and find a white dress waiting for her at the end of the bed and the vicar waiting at the local church two streets away. Then everything changed. Not long after a night out, her leaving do from Sun Hill and that ride home in Max's car. He came to find her, the reason wasn't clear. It should have been everything that she wanted. But instead he had revolted her, abused her and then left, staggering out into the night, a grotesque shadow of himself.

Someone was watching her. She could feel it. A horribly skin-crawling sensation that told her someone was waiting. She hurried on, her feet carrying her faster towards safety behind a locked door. She was through the metal gate now, letting it swing shut with an oil-starved screech behind her, no point in closing it properly, it would only waste time. She scurried up the short path, not bothering to kick the stray gravel back onto the neatly ordered patch of front garden nor admire the last vestiges of autumn flowers in their tubs. She fumbled in the depths of her soft leather bag for the keys, cursing the wretched bag for all its many pockets and zips. She had never really liked it, but even in this her opinion had been rendered unimportant.

"Shit," she muttered anxiously, her nerves getting the better of her. The watcher was at the gate now, she could feel his presence, thought she could even recognise his breathing. Her heart leapt with relief when finally her fingers found the keys and she yanked them to the surface. She had to get inside, to get away from him. After what he did to her, how he made her feel and what it made her do. Perhaps she should be grateful, but she might also feel something else. She didn't want to go through that again. Never. She jabbed the key at the locked, scratching the brass surround. Aidan would have told her to be more careful. Even now his censorious reproach popped into her head.

"Millie?" The voice behind her was soft enough that for a moment she could pretend to have not heard. "Millie? Please." This time he was more insistent. Her hand stilled, she thought there was something else in his voice. It sounded like he was desperate. But surely that wasn't possible. When had Max Carter ever sounded desperate? Cocky, dismissive, cruel. Oh yes, he was all of those things, she'd been on the receiving end of those, and seen yet worse from him towards others. But desperate? Slowly she turned her head, looking behind out of the corner of her eye over her shoulder, not daring to turn her body to face him. Her hand still held the key to the lock. She could be in and up the stairs to the furthest point of the house from the door within seconds, she could ignore that he had ever been here.

"I-" He left his appeal hanging.

Her head screamed at her to get inside, but something else took over and without conscious decision she turned slowly, her hand remained anchored to the key. She had an image in her head of what to expect, yet the reality could not have been further away.

It wasn't so much that his appearance was altered. In fact, apart from perhaps too much stubble and a rather grey pallor, both of which could be attributed to a protracted shifts and overwork, he looked the same as always and certainly less crazed than the last time she had seen him. Rather it was the haunted, fractured look in his eyes and the hunch of his shoulders that seemed to take a couple of inches off his height which shook her. She took a sharp breath and blinked, as if what she saw might improve, yet on continued inspection if anything, he appeared to deteriorate.

Having got her attention, Max hesitated. He looked so helpless that despite her hardened state, she allowed the corners of her mouth to form the merest of uncertain smiles. It seemed to work and he took a step towards her, drawing up close to the waist high brick wall safely separating them.

"I need to see you."

"Er-"

"Are you working tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"The day after?"

"N-no."

"Will you meet me?"

Millie blinked in confusion. She couldn't imagine what he might want to say to her or what he might want her to say to him. Any why wait for two days? Why not ask if they could talk now?

"Please."

The second 'please' in less than a minute. She didn't think she'd ever so much as heard him use the word once in all the time she had known him. Perhaps that was too harsh, but it was how she remembered him. She should refuse and tell him to get lost, but instead she nodded stiffly.

Max's gaze dropped to the wall between them for a moment before looking up and nodding at her in acknowledgement. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. Millie watched in bewilderment while he crossed the road to his car a little further down the street. She wondered if he might turn round to suggest where and when they should meet. But he didn't and within a few seconds the sound of a car starting brought the only noise to the street and soon he was gone.

-oo-

It was only after Max arrived home that he allowed himself to feel any relief. But that was short lived. He'd only thought of getting her to agree to meet him. That done, unnervingly quickly, now he had to figure out what he wanted to say. Where to start. And, assuming he could overcome those almost unassailable hurdles, whether he would ever find peace.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day -

_Tomorrow. Franchetti's. Guildenstern Road. 10am._

Then -

_Please?_

A few minutes later, the reply -

_Yes._

-ooOoo-

Unseasonal cold had morphed into damply dull. The streets of London were grey and uninspiring, the autumn coloured leaves having been turned to brown mush with rain, footfall and exhaust fumes. Only Millie's hair clashing fiercely with the purple scarf would round her neck seemed to provide any vibrancy to the road beyond as she crossed over from the bus stop. Max watched her intently, trying his hardest not to feel anything.

She could see him, watching her from behind the misted window while she dodged her way through the passing traffic and made her way towards the door of the nondescript little cafe. Having only just checked her watch when she stepped from the bus, she knew she wasn't late. One of her resolutions during her mental preparations that morning was not to apologise to him. Not for being late, not for being herself, not for anything. An early New Year resolution perhaps, to bring to an end the crushing sense of inferiority that had fuelled so many of her dreadful decisions. Yet, as she approached him, her default demeanour fought hard for supremacy and it took huge effort not to mumble an unnecessary apology for being late.

He sat on a tall bar stool at the window, avoiding the casual glances of other customers, barely even acknowledging her arrival. Except that already waiting for her on the countertop was a steaming cup of coffee, milk and sugar to the side. Millie eased herself on to the vacant stool next to Max. "For me? Thanks," she said brightly. "Just what I need," she continued, adding the milk and sugar. He said nothing. Millie shifted uneasily, this wasn't how she had imagined their meeting would start. It wasn't as if she had assumed it would be something like a date. That would have been a ridiculous notion. However, having taken a good hard look at her life recently, even the ridiculous seemed all too possible. Yet it was immediately clear to her that no matter her own assumptions, this was not a date to him. Not unless it was the sort of date where he paid her no attention. "I suppose we've got months ahead like this," she blurted, "the weather that is. It'll be March before it brightens up and gets warm again." Even to her own ears she sounded rather lame, her small talk was woefully uninspiring. She stirred her coffee, staring down into it, waiting for him to say something. Willing him to say something. At one point he shifted in his seat and she looked at him in sudden anticipation, but all he gave was his profile, grimly and silently set. The minutes ticked by. She wondered if anyone was staring at them, thinking their lack of interaction strange, but she was surprised to discover that they were not alone. Several other couples sat together, each engrossed in their phones or magazines, unaware of each other, perhaps blissfully, perhaps sadly. Was this what life was destined to be? She had been lonely in her relationship with Aidan but her inner romanticism told her that it would be different with the right man. Did all these people think the same? Did any of them think at all? Was this dreary little café in this dreary corner of Canley the limit of their existence, and hers? Millie frowned into the remains of her coffee. She was just taking a breath of courage to give voice to her fears when his phone rang out, cutting her off.

"Carter," he muttered gruffly. His gravelly voice surprised her. He sounded strangely lifeless. "Yeah, I can be there in ten minutes. Wait for me." Having pocketed his phone, he slid down from the stool and pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket, briefly checking them before placing them on the counter next to Millie. "I have to go," was all he said, catching her eye only momentarily before heading for the door and disappearing across the road.

-ooOoo-

_Can we meet again?_

_Why?_

_Please? Same place tomorrow? Any time._

_I'm not sure._

_Please?_

_4.30pm._

This time he was slumped in a fake leather bucket armchair, hunched and still wearing his jacket. She assumed he must have only arrived a minute or so before her. Millie hadn't expected to hear from him and had rather hoped that he wouldn't make contact again. Mainly because now as well as feeling a disturbing attraction to him, she was frustratingly intrigued by his silence the week before and in her gut she was certain it wouldn't end well. Yet, here she was, at 4.29pm just over a week since they last met, walking through the door of the same soulless café. The day was no brighter, the gloom forecast to last indefinitely, and her heart was no lighter. She had no idea why she had agreed to his request, no idea what she hoped to achieve.

"Hi," she breathed softly, attracting his attention. Behind her a short, corpulent woman grunted impatiently, holding a tray with two cups of coffee, the liquid slopping messily as her whole body rippled with the movement of her announcement. Millie stared at her for a moment, almost certain that she could see her own reflection in the shiny grease on the woman's skin. "Uh … sorry," she muttered shifting to the side to allow the woman to set the cups down, spilling more coffee as she did. Max appeared to notice nothing, despite the unpleasant smell which wafted around the unfortunate creature as she lifted a hand to wipe at her top lip. Millie held her breath, even managing a small smile to stifle her revulsion, and waited for the offensive woman to return to the counter, vowing to never eat anything she might have touched before sliding down into a chair opposite Max.

"I didn't really expect to hear from you again," Millie began nervously. "I was in a community meeting when I got your message." She sighed. "Really, what is the point of those meetings? The people we need to reach out to aren't interested in attending. The only ones who ever turn up are the curtain twitching busybodies demanding to know why we aren't 'doing anything'. I mean, what do they expect we should do?" Max eyed her ambiguously, leaving Millie embarrassed at the pettishness of her rant. She winced. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid, the sense of inferiority that seemed to blight everything that she did. Resolutely she pulled her shoulders back and let her gaze fall on the traffic beyond the steamed windows. A gang of teenage girls burst into the café, bringing with them a cacophony of giggles and yelps. Noisily, they ordered cappuccinos and lattes as if they were talking to a sophisticated Milanese barista, instead of an overweight greasy woman with a personal hygiene problem from possibly the least appealing corner of London's East End. But the cacophony and bustle was a welcome distraction. It was impossible to be heard above them without shouting, not that Millie could find anything more to say and it was clear that Max wasn't going to offer anything more than last time. She watched the girls. There were two clear ringleaders, both blonde, both pretty, or at least they might have been under the make-up. Behind them the others followed their lead, laughing at their jokes, copying their mannerisms. But Millie was especially drawn to the girl at the back, an outsider desperate to be one of them, eyes flitting between the members of the group trying to keep up but each time left off the pace. Deliberately. Despite her achingly evident efforts to emulate the style of her idols, dressing in the same clothes even though they did nothing to suit her fuller figure, no doubt providing the skinnier girls with plenty of snidely delivered ammunition. The sadness in the girl's eyes as the others sat down leaving her to give her order alone struck Millie deeply. She knew exactly how that felt.

Max shifted in his chair on the periphery of her vision and bringing her back to the present dilemma. Should she try to talk to him? To make all the effort and be grateful for whatever crumbs him might throw in her direction? The girl was now sitting in a chair she'd had to pull up from another table and slightly out of the group. She might just as well have been eavesdropping for all the attention the others paid her. Millie frowned. She still had no idea why Max had been so insistent on meeting her for the second time, but she wasn't going to beg for his reasons. Instead she'd give him the time it took to drink her coffee and no more.

It took just fifteen minutes for that time to come to an end and still he had said nothing and barely looked at her. The girl was still sitting to the side of the group, but now she seemed resigned to being ignored. Anger flared within Millie. She could do nothing to help her, the girl had to figure it out for herself, but she wouldn't sit here a moment longer.

"I have to go, Max" she said tersely. "Thanks for the coffee."

His lips parted as if to speak, maybe to ask her to stay, and she hesitated. But he only nodded and went back to staring out of the window. For the briefest moment she considered letting rip, demanding to know what was his game? Why her? What had she done to deserve any of this? She caught herself just in time, determined not to lay herself open, determined to hold on to her dignity.

-oo-

She knew she should never agree to meet him again, she should ignore any attempt he made to contact her. But it proved impossible. His texts were rarely more than a few words yet in them she felt a sense of hopelessness which only she could satisfy. Of course, it was nothing but a fairytale. She knew that. In her head she knew it. Knowing it didn't stop her agreeing to meet him, even though each time ended the same way as before. Gradually she felt less angry and grew more confident. She drank the coffee he provided, always having arrived before her, and sat watching the comings and goings of the café, which never got any less dreary. Sometimes she thought he was on the verge of speaking, sometimes he seemed to pay her a little more attention.

At the same time, Millie's own life was moving on. A chance encounter with an old school friend, or was that an old school bully, the line between those relationships could be so slight, had sparked the memory of a teenage fantasy. To travel a little, study overseas, to get away from London and its vicelike grip on her dreams. She couldn't stay in Aidan's house much longer. His generosity was wearing thin with the realisation that she wasn't weakening. His comments, when calling by to check that she was managing without him, were increasingly surly, bordering on the unpleasant. She had held her tongue to begin with but independence from him had also brought new courage and she bit back, much to his surprise and sending him scurrying for the door in high dudgeon. Afterwards Millie had been sorry. There was no possibility that their relationship could ever work, but he wasn't such a bad man. Just not the right one.

It took until she was at the very dregs of her coffee before she could bring herself to tell him. The silence between, once so frustrating and intimidating, had grown comfortable and strangely intimate. Somehow they had created their own peculiar little world in the corner of the little café where they were known to and knew none.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to meet you after Christmas. I'm going away for a while." With those words spoken, the rest seemed to flood from her lips. "To Italy. It's something I always wanted to do, ever since I was a teenager. I'm going to study at a language school until next summer, maybe longer. I'll see how it goes." His body stiffened, the ease between them was gone in an instant. Nerves crept in. "I didn't think I'd get the chance, it seemed impossible, but now … I know I'll regret it if I don't go." Millie waited. Surely he would have to ask a question, make a comment. He couldn't keep his silence now. She watched him keenly, his brow furrowed but he otherwise gave away nothing. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have been less than a minute he took a deep breath, nodding as he exhaled.

"Well, good luck," he murmured and without another word Max rose to his feet and made his way out of the café, stopping only to throw down payment for the coffee on the counter. Millie watched him leave, her excitement at her plans tarnished by his response. She sighed, resolving to put him very firmly to the back of her mind and concentrate on her own life.

Max took little consolation that he had managed to keep it together for long enough to be out of sight of the café before he dived down an alley leading to a car park. In the gloom, he slumped against the wall holding his head in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just a mini update – trying to get this going again now December is over and I might have a little more time on my hands …_

-ooOoo-

Hi!

I suppose most of you know where I am, but for those of you who don't, I'm in Venice! (In Italy, just in case some of you don't know ;)) Can you believe it? Not sure that I can. It's everything I hoped it would be, that I dreamed it would be and more. I can't wait to explore but the language school is working us hard right now so I'm keeping my head down & nose to the grindstone & all that. I'm beginning to get to know a few people here, mainly on my course and the local café owner is really nice, he's made me feel so welcome. I suppose it's in his interest, I seem to have bought so much of his amazing coffee in the weeks since I arrived!

Anyway, address is: Campo Santa Margherita 3116/a Dorsoduro 30123 Venice

Email stays the same & finally I have an Italian mobile (00399 367 928 6210). Will try to set up skype when I have a moment to breathe because international calls to mobile phones are very expensive – so until I do, text me instead!

Not much else to say at the moment, everything is so different to London that I haven't even begun to take it all in. Please keep in touch. I want to know all the news & gossip from home so don't any of you dare forget me!

Lots of love,

Millie

Millie read through what she had written. It was hardly a masterpiece, it didn't even begin to articulate what she felt at arriving so completely alone in the strangest city she had ever encountered. Yet this was what she wanted. And needed. Nearly everyone had scoffed at her plan, chided her for giving up everything on a whim. Especially Aidan. He was the worst. He'd actually laughed and told her she wouldn't last five minutes on her own. Of course, at least he could have his home back. But Millie refused to be cowed and since arriving had felt completely vindicated in her decision to leave London. Somehow, she knew this was the place where she could grow, quite possibly in every sense if she wasn't careful. The local café had plenty else to recommend it besides the coffee.

She checked the names in the 'To' box, carefully making sure that they were all spelt correctly, carefully making sure that that the message was going to the right people in her contacts list. She sat back against the pillow on her bed. One name glared its absence. Her fingers reached out and, as if by their own accord, tapped at the keys to bring the name to life. She blinked at it then hit delete. Yet the urge to reach out was too strong and she retyped the address, stared at it for a long moment and then dragged it down into the 'Bcc' line. That would do. No one else need know.

-ooOoo-

CID was in near darkness, only one desk dimly illuminated by the lamp and computer screen giving evidence of any living presence. Max sat hunched, reviewing file after file, searching for the shred of so far undetected evidence that he needed, determined to focus every fibre of his being on that search so that he didn't have the space in his head to think about anything else. Keeping clean was hard, but he was doing it, doing it alone because he his own will was more powerful than any therapist's mumbo-jumbo. Talking hadn't got him anywhere, it didn't ease the loneliness, didn't ease the craving for something to take that away or at least to make it bearable. Work was the only thing that worked. It was fortunate that the team was at full stretch right now and that he only ever needed four hours sleep.

Just as he closed another buff file, bursting with handwritten and near illegible statements in order to reveal the next he noticed the alert of a new email message on the screen in front of him. Wearily he clicked 'yes' to open it, not expecting anything important but instead his heart stopped beating. Or at least that was what it felt like. The text swam before his eyes but he took a deep breath to regain control and read the words. Once, twice, three times. His heart beat faster, the blood pounding fiercely in his ears.


End file.
